


mission accomplished

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: She’d made her official--and permanent--return to Earth’s orbit last week and had spent the better part of it wrapped up in his arms, in their sheets, getting reacquainted with each other: the taste of his lips, the pleasant weight of his body pinning her down to the mattress, the feel of him pulsing inside her as he pressed his thumb against her clit and sent them both toppling over the edge.





	mission accomplished

Sam tilted her head and evaluated the situation at hand, planning her attack strategically and tactically. Jack sat propped up in bed, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, frowning as he read over the pile of reports stacked on his bedside table, scribbling and making notes in the margins, sighing heavily.

She’d made her official--and permanent--return to Earth’s orbit last week and had spent the better part of it wrapped up in his arms, in their sheets, getting reacquainted with each other: the taste of his lips, the pleasant weight of his body pinning her down to the mattress, the feel of him pulsing inside her as he pressed his thumb against her clit and sent them both toppling over the edge. 

But their warm, perfect bubble of happiness and sex was burst when a young airman pounded on the door of his-- _their--_ town home with an apologetic grimace and a stack of files that needed his immediate attention and review. 

He’d scowled and barked orders and Sam had taken rather great pleasure in wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly stripping him of his tee, leaving him only in his boxers, and pressing lingering, teasing kisses down the length of his spine, soothing her grumpy general. 

(And if she still felt a giddy pleasure that he was, indeed,  _her_  general, that was for her to know.)

Despite her assurances to him, soft and soothing, that she understood, that she had some some outstanding reports to write as well (”Samantha Carter,” he had drawled, nuzzling his nose against hers and kissing her teasingly. “ _Late_  with a report? You’re slipping...” She’d pinched his six and reminded him exactly  _why_  she was late with it and it involved her mouth on his belly, his hip, his cock...); but he was five feet from her, looking tousled and incredibly hot in his glasses and boxers, and she had  _missed_  him.

She’d trained under O’Neill for years and what he lacked in technical jargon, he more than made up for in tactical skill and she’d picked up a thing or two along the way.

It was time to show him how much she’d really learned.

Tossing aside her own stack of files, she rolled over and curled up against his side, pressing her lips chastely to his bicep--just enough to get his attention.

He looked down at her and grinned, closing the gap between them and kissing the top of her head, nuzzling against her hair for a moment. 

“You turning in?” he murmured, glancing at the clock over her shoulder and frowning when it revealed the late hour. 

“Not quite,” she said, her toes brushing over his beneath the covers before curling up over his calf, and back down--stroking along his skin in slow, gentle motions. 

She slipped her arm around his waist, gently nudging the report he was poring over out of the way, and she wrapped herself around him as best as she she could. His heart was beating beneath her ear and she turned her head to press a kiss to his sternum, hair tickling over his nipple.

“Sam,” he groaned, shifting against her. “I  _have_  to get these done. The President asked me to-- _fuck.”_

Her hand had drifted down over his hip and cupped his hardening cock, massaging him to full hardness and allowing the dry heat of her hand, the tight pressure, the promise of something  _more_  get him going. 

She grinned against the skin of his chest and continued stroking and massaging him, her thumb catching the head of his cock and rubbing in short, tight circles and then tightening her grip on him and twisting her wrist.

He thrust helplessly into her hand, her name on his lips, and his grip on his files loosening. 

Sam knew she was close to getting exactly what she wanted and took his nipple into her mouth, flattening her tongue over the sensitive skin before letting her teeth graze over the puckered nipple. 

The folder in Jack’s hands slipped and he buried a hand in her hair, hissing sharply. “ _Sam.”_

The final phase of her plan was upon her and she let his nipple go with a soft  _pop_  before pushing up on her elbow, still stroking his cock with increasing urgency, and pressed her lips to his. 

The kiss was hot and urgent and frantic--open mouths and tangling tongues and teeth grazing over lips. She mimicked her kiss in time with her strokes upon him, twisting her wrist with each stroke of her tongue against his, flicking her thumb against his head with each nip of his bottom lip.

And then she heard the telltale sound of papers scattering messily across their bedroom floor, the files long forgotten, and Jack O’Neill was rolling her beneath him, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head and thrusting against her as he found the hollow of her hip. 

He growled low in his throat, lips ghosting over her jaw and neck and collarbone as he moved down her body, kissing every inch of exposed skin.

“I thought you had files to review,” she gasped out, teasing and pleased with herself. 

He surged up the length of her body and pressed her further into the mattress. “The President,” he mumbled against her lips, hand palming the swell of her breast and thumb rubbing over her hardened nipples. “He’ll understand there are other, more pressing matters at hand.”

And as he kissed his way down her body, rucking up her sleep shirt (well, technically it was  _his_ old USAF Academy shirt she had stolen years ago), and planting soft, open-mouthed kisses over each newly exposed patch of skin before tugging her panties aside and settling between her legs and putting his time and attention to much better use, Samantha Carter sighed and stroked a hand through his hair, arching into his touch.

_Mission accomplished._


End file.
